Riven Book 2: Blood for Noxus
by Viper of Grand
Summary: If the title doesn't give it away, this is the sequel to Blade Reforged. Jericho Swain has taken control and his right hand man General Darius sees the effects of the Tyrant's reign. Demacia starts to crumble under politcal turmoil, victory in sight, yet Riven stands in their way, wishing to start a civil war with Noxus itself. Darius cannot help but wonder why she would dare try.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The last few moments of Boram Darkwill's life were perhaps some of the most enlightening in his entire life. The night of his death, on his way to Kalamanda, he slept in his overly lavish and regal tent. His pratorian guard, several members of the the Raedsel unit, slept in their own modest tents in a circle around him. The slightest sound would alert them to almost any presence that dared to tred near them. The field in which they camped for the night had no foliage, nothing to obscure the sight of the watchmen, nothing at all could surprise the highly trained Noxian soldiers.

The eternally youthful ruler of Noxus slept peacefully, his head resting against a silk, gold embroidered pillow while he snored loudly. For no particular reason, save for gut instinct, Boram snapped awake and sat up in his cot. He stared into the darkness that occluded his vision. Boram squinted, then grunted at the corner of his tent, his tone authoritative, "What do you think you are doing, LeBlanc?"

Golden heels soundlessly walked out of the shadows, the black peeling away from the woman's body as though it were a coat as the deceiver stepped into view. She smiled as she spoke, her voice resembled the cascade of shattered crystals, "Was I so obvious, Darkwill?"

"Answer my question."

"There's no rush, _darling_." When LeBlanc spoke the last word, one could almost taste the hate that flew from her lips. "Let's have a drink first, shall we?"

Darkwill slid off his cot and walked into a section of the obscuring shadows within the tent. Sickly green, necromantic magic hummed from his body which provided a little illumination for him. Every step his bare, slender feet took, the grass he stepped on blackened and browned, twisted about and died. Wisps of their life force seeping into the ruler of Noxus' body.

The green light revealed a strange, chest-like piece of furniture as well as a decorated oak table and a pair of chairs. He leaned over and clicked it open. The dull shine of glass could be seen, glinting from the green light that shone from him. Darkwill withdrew a bottle of dark red wine and two glasses.

"Do make that four glasses in total, dear. I'll be drinking for three." LeBlanc stood in place, patiently waiting with staff in hand which hummed with a faint, purple energy. For some reason though, she was still smiling.

Darkwill shrugged and placed the two glasses on the table. He reached over and tapped the edge of the glass closest to him. "Answer, then I will pour."

"Always the gentleman, Darkwill. Quite the gentle_man _indeed!" The mock in her tone bore no effort to be disguised. "You don't want me to be honest, Darkwill. You honestly don't."

"I honestly do," he retorted, circling his finger along the rim of the glass. "I am a personal believer of making one's last moments somewhat enjoyable if it can be afforded. I have let you live as long as you have because it worked in my favor. You fight for Noxus, you have successfully furthered my agenda yourself, you volunteered for the Ionia versus Noxus rematch. I let you live, because you could do nothing to stop me if you wanted to, and we both let the sleeping dog lie."

Boram looked over at LeBlanc, his voice low. "So why waken the sleeping dog, LeBlanc? I know you are not Emilia. Perhaps you are Josephine? Maybe Mona? Or was it Evaine whose body you have hopped into now? Why take such a risk when I am still Darkwill, and you are a shadow of your former self? Tell me the truth, I am quite curious and we both know that even you grow tired of the game at times."

"Me? Tired of the game? Never. But very well, Darkwill. I shall tell you the truth." LeBlanc leaned ever so slightly forward, her smile still evident. "You are going to die tonight, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Mhm. I see. Well, thank you for telling me, LeBlanc." Darkwill half filled the glasses with the red wine. "What's changed to make you so bold? I'm still Boram Darkwill, the Raedsel guard surrounds us, the first twitch I make will have them descend on you and cut you to ribbons."

Before Darkwill could grab the wine glass it started to levitate. It quickly floated over into LeBlanc's open hand who still had that same, damn, smile on her face. "Why should I tell you, when my associate can do a much better job?"

Out of the shadows, a new figure emerged. An old man with a cane, wrapped in the gold and dark green robes, stepped forward. Three pairs of red eyes glinted and stared at Darkwill from the darkness, and was soon revealed to belong to a raven that sat perched on the shoulder of the man.

"General Swain?"

The older man, Swain, nodded. A scarf covered the lower half of his mouth, his red eyes looking about the room. "It is a nice tent, High General."

"Swain, what are you doing here?" Darkwill picked up his glass and swirled it about, staring at the general.

"Is it not obvious, Darkwill?" Swain waved his fingers at LeBlanc, "I believe the Matron has told you the truth already."

"...So I was right. You are a traitor." Darkwill tapped the side of his head, "I have not yet been wron-"

A ridiculously loud cackle, along with the cawing of a raven, ripped through the tent. Darkwill's eyes darted about, none of his guard apparently heard such a loud sound.  
"You were wrong the very moment you were made the leader of Noxus." Swain hobbled over to one of the two chairs, pulled it out, and sat on it. His raven flew off his shoulder and rested herself on LeBlanc's outstretched forearm. The raven's claws firmly secured itself onto the golden armband. "What you wanted to do, was to reclaim Demacia as part of what rightfully belongs to Noxus, yes?"

"Yes. Your point?"

"Where are you going now?"

"To Kalamanda," Darkwill took a hearty chug of his wine, nearly finishing it in a single gulp. He nodded his head about while saying, "To reinforce the peace treaty with Demacia. Because of the prisoner's death, too many discrepancies have been brought up. Too many events, too many oddities, I have to make sure for the future of Noxus that the peace we have managed to maintain remains. I will have to...be..."

Swain stared at Darkwill, who seemed to slowly put things together in his head. The ruler of Noxus stared at his general, the sickly, necromantic magic surging out from him. "You."

"It took you this long to realize such a plan. Do you know why? Because you are an idiot." Swain's voice rose in volume. "You are not only an idiot but a lunatic. You started the war with Demacia, you were the one who led Noxus through two Rune Wars against the Demacians, you were the one who wanted to claim Demacia through blood. You spent centuries, time and time again, trying to do accomplish a simple goal. It took you several centuries to realize the futility of your actions, and what is your answer?"

Swain slammed his open palm onto the table, letting the sound boom forth, "_Supplication_!" The general settled his temper and himself before speaking again,

"Essentially what you've been doing is going one plus one equals three for several centuries, trying to make it fit. You are a lunatic for trying the exact, same, formula for every single conquest. It rarely worked yet you continued to use it as the ultimate solution to every, single one of your aspirations. The moment I'm in charge, I win your battles, your wars, your efforts. Give me any task and I succeed. The moment I am not included in something? Abysmal failure. Look at Ionia, you fool. If I was in charge, I would have those pacifists licking my boots in mere moments. My only failure was the one time that I had Jarvan IV, in Noxus, in my grasp, ready for execution. In all of your centuries, the closest you got to a Lightshield was when you let Jarvan III sneak in and release dozens of slaves from the heart of Noxus. You are never aware of the consequences of your actions. All you are is an outdated hedonist, a man who should never have been in the position that you are in. You are an abysmal, worm of a man with too much strength and too little brain power to rule, and it is an atrocity that you have for so long."

The general chuckled and pressed his fingers against his forehead. "You have no idea how long I have wanted to say that."

Darkwill did not seem impressed with Swain. "So that is why you are going to try to kill me? Because you don't want peace with Demacia?"

"Are you that dense? You do not deserve to rule Noxus, Boram." Swain tapped his chest, "I do. The Black Rose shall bloom once more. We will put things as they once were, with the Rose's connections and my genius, we will take back what rightfully belongs to us. Unlike you, smashing your metaphorical head into the wall until you give up, I can see that you can walk around the wall."

Swain leaned his head onto his knuckled fist, staring at Darkwill with his red eyes all the while. "Any last words, Darkwill?"

"Yes, what makes you think you can possibly kill me? I am High General Boram Darkwill, I am the strongest fighter in all of Noxus, the most powerful necromancer in all of Runeterra, and you think an old man with a bird and an illusionist can kill me? The moment my guards awake-"

"They're dead." LeBlanc sipped at her wine, still smiling.

"...Ex...cuse you?"

"They're dead. The moment I walked in their hearts stopped. They're all dead. Unfortunate, but necessary. Their throats are now being slit by two of our members, dressed in typical Demacian armor and wearing the standard Demacian army boots, and they will leave. Their corpses will be burnt to assure no identification can be made, but better safe than sorry. We are being as thorough as possible. All that is left, is you, me, the bird, and my dear Jericho."

Darkwill poured himself another glass of wine, handing the bottle over to Swain. He took a drink from the glass and shook his head, "And what makes you think that the two of you are even close to a match to me?"

Swain's raspy voice answered, "First: You are nowhere near a Nexus, meaning you cannot tap into its magic for anything. All of your magic must be conducted through your body which significantly weakens you. Second: This is the first time you have left Noxus in centuries, and you are now currently in the middle of literally nowhere. Third: You have no other bodies in which to power your necromancy, as we have effectively surrounded your tent with temporary glyphs that will not permit your power to escape the bounds. Fourth: You let us settle in as deep as we have, and for your ignorance you will have to die."

Darkwill snorted and let out a light chuckle. "That only means my power will be concentrated on the two of you. This will be but a moment." He polished off his glass and shook it at the deceiver while staring at his general, "Now then, shall we dance?"

"We?" LeBlanc looked over at Beatrice and nodded her head. The deceiver reached up at the circlet that adorned her brow and took it off. "Why would we dance? I never said we were going to kill you, I said you're going to die tonight."

The high general blinked, trying to make sense of what was just said. "If not you, then who-"

"**B**_**oRA**_m. _**It**__ hAS _b**EEn** to**O** LOn**G.**"

The glass fell from his hand. Necromantic magic roared from him, concern and even the slightest hint of fear crossed his features. "...No...You, I killed you. You're dead."

"_**YoU**_ A**Nd** I boTH KnOW** ThAt In NoXus**, _death is a promotion_." Vile purple magic shrieked out at the High General, all reaching out to pierce his chest. "**But Fo**_**R Y**__ou,_ DEA**th **is _A_**n ETERNITY!**"

Darkwill's eyes went wide. He raised his hands up in defense, the souls of the damned flying to his aid.

A horrid screech was then heard, followed by a surge of green magical energy exploding from within the tent. If the glyphs were not in place, as they brightly shone, the blast would have been easily seen for miles around and was quite thoroughly dampened. Some sort of magical darkness quickly covered any light that tried escaping the tent, and the faintest traces of purple could be seen dissipating into the night.

Swain rose up from his seat and hobbled over to LeBlanc who was affixing her circlet back onto her head. "How much time has passed?"

"Time?" The deceiver laughed and grinned. "Time is relative to someone such as me. I would say...a minute has passed in total. Go on back to your meeting, my most handsome swain, and prepare to mourn for the loss of our leader tomorrow morning."

"I will come with a patrol, concerned for the safety of Darkwill's only to discover the tragedy that has befallen him at the hands of the Demacians."

LeBlanc caressed Swain's cheek tenderly, "I will clean up and meet with you in a bit, darling. Hail Noxus."

Beatrice flew over and settled herself on Swain's shoulder, preening her feathers. A hint of red liquid could be seen dripping from her beak, quickly snuffed by her black feathers.

"Hail Noxus."

* * *

Riven could barely see. She was in an ocean of red. Taking a step forward gave her absurd amounts of resistance. The liquid was too thick to be water. She reached down and scooped up a handful of the liquid, a human ear resting on her palm. She was in an ocean of blood. Riven took another step forward and felt a hand grip her ankle. With a hard tug, the exile saw the hand belonged to an Ionian she had killed. Instead of yanking it away, she allowed the grip to stay.

More hands started to grab onto her arms, her legs and her neck. Arms started to wrap themselves around her body as she walked knee deep in gore. Her right hand tightly held her sword, reformed and brimming brightly. All the corpses, all the dead whispered to her the entire time, "_Why...Why...Why..._"

Riven continued her trudge, various skulls and dismembered limbs floating by her. She remembered when this would bring her low, when she would cow and weep for the atrocities she had committed. Not anymore. Riven shrugged her shoulders forward, firmly securing the grasping corpses onto her as she continued her slow walk. Eventually, she came upon others standing upright. Men and women dressed in the armor of Noxian infantry. Riven raised her sword up, stared them in their face, and sliced through them. They fell before her, falling apart like ragdolls. Once they fell into the gore, she could feel them grip onto her and add onto the weight. She continued to cut a path through the soldiers until a child stepped in front of her.

Riven stopped. She tightened her grip on her sword and raised it up. She stared the child in her eyes, Riven's piercing gaze making the little girl quake at the prospect of death.  
A soft voice seemed to waft throughout the landscape.

_Oh...My-lit-tle-sun-lit child so near so dear to, my, heart..._

What strange lyrics. So foreign, yet so warm. So memorable. It almost sounded like...a lullaby, from long ago.

The sword was lowered. Riven walked past the little girl when she felt a sharp pain in her side. The girl had unsheathed a knife and stabbed Riven.

_Though-the-dark-comes-and-you-close-your-eyes... _

The exile gripped the knife, pulled it out of the girl's hands, and kept walking towards the groaning gates of Noxus, where a monstrous raven was perched. Their eyes met, and Riven continued to walk forward. More cuts, more lacerations, more of her blood spilled, she staggered from fatigue, but she kept walking.

_Oh my child do not forget that even in the dark,_

Riven took her first step on solid ground before Noxus, a human skull underneath her boot. She looked at its empty gaze and knelt down. Her fingers brushed the eye sockets while tears streamed down her face. Tightening her grip on her sword, she got back up, and took a second step up the stairs. Then a third step, and then a fourth step.

_You, shine._

Riven's eyes opened. She blinked and let out a breath of annoyance. She had finally woken up, and felt like her entire body was numb. The exile sat up in the bed, thoroughly annoyed. She could hear voices from outside her door, though not what they said. Riven looked over at her side, seeing Irelia by her bed but asleep on a chair. Irelia's sword rested on the wall closest to her, humming as though it were snoring.

The door creaked open, and the smell of baked goods permeated the air. Irelia blinked awake and looked at the approaching figure. A thick miasma could be felt approaching them. Irelia snorted and wiped at her eyes, her hair a mess but her tone as authoritative as ever. "Morgana."

"Hello, Ionian. I decided to come by and bring these."

Irelia pointed at Riven who was staring at her, "She's still asleep. Go away, angel. Leave her alone."

"She's asleep?"

"Yes."

"Riven, are you asleep?"

Before Irelia could reply, Riven said, "I have awakened. Am I needed?" The exile woman looked around for a trace of her sword. She did not have to look far as her leg shuffled and was prodded by a heavy object. The sword laid in bed with her, underneath her bed covers as though it were a sleeping babe. How odd, she had not even noticed its presence.

"Riven, you're awake!"

"...Yes? I am?"

Irelia's sword flew up behind the Ionian while she got out of her seat. "I was starting to get worried. Are you actually awake, or...?"

Riven raised an eyebrow in confusion at the question. "...I'm awake. Why?"

"Not delusional?"

"Delusional?"

Irelia nodded. Her tone betrayed the concern she had for her friend. "You have been in bed for more than a month. The venom, the loss of blood, the broken bones, the internal bleeding, you had pneumonia from the hypothermia you experienced. You would sometimes speak as though you were awake, but you would not always make the...most of sense."

Riven reached up at her head. It felt itchy. Actually...her whole body felt itchy. She focused her eyes and stared at the white blanket that covered her. It was a fur pelt. She tilted her head in confusion, trying to figure out why a pelt would be here. Riven scratched the side of her face, making an orange bandana to flop down in front of her eyes. She pulled the fabric off and stared at it. The little gem it had pinned on it showed it belonged to a Shojin monk.  
"Lee made sure your core body temperature was moderated while Udyr insisted to give you the pelt if you needed to be kept warm-"

Morgana interrupted in a mocking imitation of Udyr, "We think her strong enough to live, she only need bear rug and bare hands to live. She good, she need more meat, recover more fast like."

Irelia rolled her eyes in annoyance. She still found the fallen angel incredibly distasteful, but Riven respected her. She would tolerate Morgana for now. "He said it a bit more intellectually than that."

A faint grin played across Riven's face. She looked over at Irelia, her lips moving to apologize for causing so much trouble for them. It was a chance she did not receive due to the Ionian pressing her finger against Riven's lips. "No, no apology. We, the Ionian people, chose to do this."

Morgana's lips parted, showing her fangs in a wicked smile. "Does she know yet?"

Irelia shot a dirty glare at Morgana, her swords humming and pointing themselves at the fallen angel. Of course Riven did not know, she was delirious or unconscious nearly this entire time in the recovery ward.

"Know what?"

Irelia continued to stare at Morgana, scowling at the angel for being so blunt. She eventually answered, "...That Swain defeated Keiran Darkwill, and is now the ruler of Noxus."

Riven let out an aggravated sigh. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

"So what now, Riven?" Morgana crossed her arms, a wicker basket hanging off her left elbow. "Gonna give up?"

"No. Never." Riven's eyes flashed open. She stared directly at the fallen angel, her tone confident, her demeanor exuding with conviction. "I had expected such a thing, and it only makes matters more difficult. It does not change my path or what needs to be done."

Irelia shuddered at the horror that Morgana would commit in response to Riven's reply: The fallen angel gave the exile a true, honest and warm smile. "Good answer. Have a cookie." A black tendril snapped into the basket and took out a large, chocolate chip cookie.

"She just woke up, don't give her a cookie. She needs proper food."

"It's a divine cookie, sweetie, relax.

Irelia pointed at the cookie, her brow knitted. "That is chocolate chip, not magical nor divine."

"Are you saying my culinary confections are _not _divine in taste?" Morgana's smile disappeared. A sneer now evident on her face.

"I could not say so, since I have not ever eaten anything of yours."

"You've..." Morgana tilted her head, processing what Irelia had just said. "Well, you're not lying, but I'm surprised. You eat the cookie then, I'll give her a sticky bun."

"No pastries! She needs..." Irelia stopped and thought of what she was about to say. "Their soup is pretty horrible. And the nurses won't be back for a while..."

"Yesss...Give in to temptation. Do it." Morgana playfully waved the sticky bun in the air.

Irelia winced and looked at Riven, shrugging. "It's your choice: Soggy rice soup and proper recovery or a cookie, or a sticky bun, or whatever."

Riven's answer was a soft chuckle and a shake of her head. She leaned back onto her pillow, her right hand tapping against the hilt of her sword. "So that is my first choice, hm?"

Riven smiled, staring out the window before her, the sunlight spilling into the room. She would have to appreciate this moment for as long as she could, before she started off on her path. Riven would not forget her experiences, not now, not ever.

Her hand tightened around the hilt of the sword. Noxus will be reformed, into the city that it was meant to be.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"All hail Grand General Swain."

Sixteen men dressed in the garbs of a Noxian general stood up in respect. The table they sat at was made of ancient acacia trees from the Plague Jungles, the few they had managed to bring to Noxus before the jungle's guardian started to pick them off. The chairs were made of Noxian maple trees, inlaid with ivory and gold. On the south wall, a large slab of transparent crystal rested on a series of bolts and screws. There were fewer occupants of these chairs than people themselves. Depictions of Boram Darkwill's campaigns still hung on cloth and picture frames upon the walls. Such remnants of Darkwill's tastes still littered the room, making his presence palpable. The room, to say the very least, was elegant.

The large mahogany doors were already ajar, and under their frame stood the new Grand General. Swain was dressed in the traditional red robes of Noxus' leader. The dark armor that adorned his body was finely polished to a high shine, and the helmet that rested on his head masked most of his facial features save for his piercing red eyes. On his left shoulder plate his raven, Beatrice, was perched on the modified armor piece. The bird would stare at everyone at least once with her the red-glowing sets of eyes. In his right hand, instead of his cane, he carried a long golden staff that ended in a masterfully crafted raven's skull at the top. Upon closer examination one might notice a green gem placed within the cranium of the skull. Atop its head, multiple prongs helped crown the staff with another emerald-colored crystal.

The Grand General walked toward his chair with long, confident strides, no sign of his characteristic limp at all visible visible. General Darius followed behind Swain, massive axe in hand, his eyes fixed on the Grand General.

Once Swain was arrived at his seat, he looked about at the High Council with slight turns of his head. In a low, commanding tone, he said, "Forever strong."

"Forever strong," they chimed their reply in unison.

Swain nodded in acknowledgement, keeping unnerving eye contact with the person on the opposite of the table while he quietly sat down on his seat. Darius took his seat to the right of the Grand General while the chair to Swain's left remained empty. The Hand of Noxis growled inwardly, fully aware of who would have been seated there, had they been present.

"Grand General," one of the councilmen decided to start the meeting. "What will you address first?"

Swain removed his helmet, revealing the black cloth that covered his lower half of his face. He placed the helmet on the table, leaned forward and tapped on the wood with his gauntleted index finger. "Reorganizing the High Council."

The men murmured to one another and nodded. "You have found worthy replacements that even our esteemed colleague, Darius, will not question?"

"I have."

Beatrice let out a loud caw, making the large doors swing open once more as a train of men quickly filtered into the room and occupied the once empty seats. The original members of the High Council murmured and nodded their approval. One of these seated people was unfortunately tapped on the shoulder by one of the newcomers. He looked up at the man, then at Swain in absolute terror.

The Grand General pointed at the doomed man and stated in his raspy, even tone, "No one takes from Noxus, General Pousse. Embellishing financial records will not be tolerated. Your estate now belongs to Noxus, your family will be evicted from their home, you will be stripped of your rank and you will be executed for your crime."

"B-but Grand General, I d-"

Beatrice pushed off of her perch, her wings unfurling as she soared over to the man, her talons outstretched until they met the flesh on his face. Once she was snugly secured, her beak snapped down when his mouth opened to utter assured screams of pain, allowing her to grab his tongue and stare at the squirming man with her beady, crimson eyes. Swain reached out with his left hand, turned upwards in askance, to his side. He showed no care for the trickles of blood that fell from Pousse's face and was now staining the table. A familiar deceiver stepped into view holding papers, not entering through any discernible door or any visible entrance, as though she had materialized from nothing but air. She handed them to Swain before taking her seat as well.

"Thank you, Advisor LeBlanc."

"You are welcome, Grand General. Forever strong."

Swain passed the papers to Darius, whose lips, upon reading them, cracked and fractured into a hateful scowl. He glared at the accused general. He reached out for his massive axe that, despite leaning against the wall behind him, was within arm's reach. Darius grabbed it slowly and dragged it closer to him with a loud, foreboding screech, setting it upright as he stared at the accused man. The papers were passed around the table in complete silence.

"Does anyone disagree?"

None of the other generals moved or spoke. With a sharp rap of Swain's staff, five Raedsel guards stormed into the room. Beatrice released the man's tongue and fluttered back to her perch.

"Grand General, I swear, those documents are falsified!"

"As the evidence stands, Pousse, you know the law. You will be given a week to compile evidence that says otherwise."

The man nodded, shaking all over. The Raedsel soldiers lifted him out of his chair and escorted him toward the door. As soon as General Pousse was parallel to Swain, he paused for a moment, violently sweating. He had no time to react when the blade of an axe was placed against his throat.

"Grand General Swain," Darius grunted. "Who found that evidence?"

"I did."

"Your word is absolute, Grand General. This man is guilty, yes?"

"Yes, he is. I however, am forced to follow the law."

The Hand of Noxus pulled his axe back and gave a violent kick to the man's chest, shattering his ribcage as well as sending him skidding to the wall. "Then I see no reason in delaying matters for this cowardly _pig_."

Pousse attempted to speak, but the words came as painful gasps and tears.

"On your whim, General Darius."

"The weak are not needed." With a broad, horizontal sweep, Darius' axe firmly embedded itself into the wall, leaving a sizable hole in the wood and stone frame, and decapitating the councilor.

Darius looked at Swain, who have him a silent nod of approval. The Hand of Noxus made his way back to his seat while the Grand General commanded the Raedsel men, "Take his body to the crematorium."

The soldiers quietly obeyed the command and dragged the corpse away. Swain motioned for the man he had designated in Pousse's spot to have a seat.

"With those dramatics out of the way..." Swain leaned forward, staring at the committee before him. "The Bilgewater match against Ionia. It is within the month, yes?"

"Yes sir, it is. Why?"

"Have the Noxians been chosen to help represent the match?"

"Not as of yet sir. With the delay, we saw no reason to rush the decision, considering the turbulence we were undergoing. The League has a proposed list of champions-"

"We will send them Katarina Du Couteau and Vladimir," Swain firmly stated. "Any opposed?"

The council shook their heads, they could see the reasoning behind such choices. And the efficiency with which he hammered these simple matters out was a breath of fresh air, especially when compared to Darkwill.

"Next issue: the Exile."

Darius' brows knit above his nose, his nostrils flared at the mere mention of her title. The word Exile to him was synonymous with the word "traitor".

"What of her?"

"She will be fighting alongside the Ionians for the Bilgewater match."

The entire council started to murmur with one another. "How should we react? This oversteps far past even her current crimes."

"We cannot, yet," Swain admitted. "I am simply letting you know that she will be in the match, and I want to assure Bilgewater's victory. I want only our most competent Summoners available for that day. Win or lose, I want preparations to be done in order to react then and there."

"Yes, Grand General."

"Now..." Swain leaned forward. He stared everyone in the eye, each for no more than three seconds, as his gaze circled the room. "I wish to speak of Demacia."

"What of Demacia?" One of the councilmen asked. "You nullified our peace treaty with them, Grand General, but the League will prevent war with them. They stopped us at Kalamanda and they will again. What can be done that will not put us into the line of fire for every city state who would stand against us?"

Darius grunted. Back then, that was when he started taking notice of Swain, when the current Grand General was just another general. Swain took the initiative after Darkwill's untimely death. Instead of that cowardly treaty, Swain was willing to fight against the murderers of the Grand General.

Swain tapped the table, his voice firm, "Demacia will fall within due time. Leave it to me and I w-"

Before he could say more, the crash of metal upon wood was heard. The stench of rotting flesh filled their noses. Although some of the men reasonably turned their faces away, most like the Hand of Noxus, the Grand General and the Deceiver seemed unperturbed by such a smell. The doors opened, Raedsel guards peeking in as a fat, gluttonous man lumbered into the room, a loud metallic clang heard with every step he took.

His obese belly was held up by spidery legs, his arms changed into horrific, disgustingly sharp weapons that were mechanical in nature. His bald face was barely held together by metal plates, a ventilation grill acted as his mouth which amplified the sound of his breathing, as well as making it easier for others to hear his constant pain.

"**Grand General...Swain...**"

"Yes, Urgot?" Swain motioned to him to step forward. "You are among fellow Noxians, Executioner. Speak your mind."

"**You...You nullified the treaty...with Demacia. Will we...announce war with them?**"

"Not yet, Urgot," Swain leaned towards Urgot. "That will come in due time, as I was saying. Demacia must be deconstructed first."

'_Deconstructed...?_' Darius did not betray the thought. He was unsure what Swain meant, but he trusted the Grand General without question.

"**Will Demacia fall...by our hands...?**"

Swain nodded in response.

"**Will...Will I...**" Urgot's right hand clicked, and shifted and changed appendages into a chainsaw. "**Will I be given Garen...?**"

Swain nodded once more.

Urgot's wheezing eventually accumulated into cacophonous laughter between coughs and gasps. "**Good...Good...I like you more than Darkwill already...**"

Urgot's lower half slowly swiveled about, making the process of him turning around look like a daunting task. He eventually was able to turn around and leave the room, his spider legs making a distinct thud sound with every heavy step he took.

Swain watched the undead creature leave, then regarded the council once more. "Back to the topic, then?"

* * *

Riven's broken blade impaled a pirate onto his own turret. He grunted, grinned and raised an orange into view. He took a solid bite of the citrus fruit while shooting Riven point blank. Only through a knee jerk reaction did she evade the fatal gunshot wound to her head, instead her armored glove coming up and absorbing the bullet. Blood poured out from the wound, but Gangplank knew when he was sunk. He let out a defeated sigh, quite surprising due to the fact that his diaphragm was pierced, and motioned to the Exile to hurry this up.

Riven twisted her blade, and with this twist both the turret and the pirate were cut in half.

"BLUE TEAM MEMBER HAS BEEN SLAIN!" A loud voice announced.

She looked over at the other Nexus turret still standing, aiming at the toy minions that surrounded them. A gentle, blue skinned hand reached over and rested itself on Riven's arm. A surge of magic issued forth and the gunshot wound disappeared.

"Riven, we will take care of this tower," Soraka said. "Do you wish to make your address?"

Riven nodded. She looked up and around, as if she was gauging where she would be most visible. She took a step forward, rested the tip of her blade on the ground in front of her and started to speak. "Demacia. Noxus. Piltover. Zaun. The Freljords. Bilgewater. Ionia. Everyone, everywhere, hearing me, from the Howling Marsh to the Voodoo lands, from East to West, South to North, I want you to listen to my words."

The Exile spun around, blade in hand, staring at the face of a familiar Noxian assassin, Katarina Du Couteau. The red haired woman, instead of lunging forward for an attack, motioned to Riven to keep talking. This was followed by a strange change in her facial expression, one of bored tedium to forced aggression as she jerked forward. Riven raised her blade, ready to attack her countryman when a minotaur stepped in the path of the assassin. Alistar pinned Katarina's face into the ground, cracking the stone she struck. The stoic minotaur gave a silent nod to Riven as he kept the assassin in place, despite the lacerations he was suffering from her attempts at breaking free.

"As most of you know, I am Riven the Exile. I exiled myself from Noxus during the Ionian war for the Zaunite chemical attack done on my own squadron, commanded by the Noxian generals in charge at the time. I committed many crimes, but the only one that Noxus will charge me for is desertion. How horrid, for all the people I killed, my crime in Noxus' eyes is that I deserted them. I deserted Noxus because I thought Noxus deserted me. For using such a disgusting tactic, for not letting the Ionians win the fight that they deserved to win, I deserted Noxus. Doing some of my own research, which I will compile, some interesting information came to light."

In Noxus, in the council room, the High Council watched and listened to the speech via the crystal slab. They looked at one another, knowing what she said was true, but this was meant to be one of Noxus' secrets. There were efforts to keep her from talking put forth by Swain, especially after her first speech, it was successful. They were at ease. Now? Now they would have to do a lot of damage control, but at least they had anticipated this. They had propaganda ready to combat this. Swain watched quietly and with some disinterest.

Darius frowned. He hated to admit it, but he did agree with Riven's point about the cowardly tactic the Noxian Generals used. They went against High Command's direct orders, and they thought to sacrifice good men and women in such an abhorrent manner. His axe shone, as though reminding him of what happened to those generals that did come back from the war, and how he dismissed them.

The fact of the matter remained: She deserted Noxus. It was not High Command's fault, but that of a few men. If she had come back, then he would have gladly joined her in the execution of those at fault.

"It was under High Command, under Darkwill's orders, that these self attacks were conducted."

Darius slammed the arms of his chair. She was lying. He knew that. Darkwill was many things, but he was not a traitor, he was not a spineless coward, and yet...he was willing to make peace with Demacia. Could it be that she was right? Her speech started to grate on his ears, her voice unbearably annoying despite the strangely warm, firm tone it carried.

"I have received letters. People ask me why have I not come back to Noxus." Riven let that hang in the air for a bit before clarifying herself. "Why have I not rejoined? Because I want Noxus, and Zaun, to answer questions. I want them to answer questions such as this: Was the Ionian war wrong?"

Darius' eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared. He was personally responsible for the final push for the Navori province, good Noxians died that day but they had won. They were victorious. His legion _never failed_.

"I think, and I believe the war was wrong. Not just the conduct of it, the actual war itself," Riven stated. The cries of battle and clash of weapons were audible in the background as she continued talking.

"We should never have attacked Ionia, and why? Because we gained only one thing: Enemies. What is the point of having strength? Is it to rule over all? Is it to become the indomitable champion, the slayer of the weak, the butcher of voices? Is that what Noxus is? How many allies does Noxus have? Zaun is a mercenary city-state, Bilgewater are allies by convenience, and now what enemies does Noxus have? Demacia, of course. Tch." The Exile shook her head, "How sad is that? I have to say that it is common knowledge. How wrong is that? Do we have more enemies? Ionia now, the Freljords, Mount Targon, and Piltover. We have enemies West, East, South and North of us, What is our response? To crush them? How successful has that been? How stupid."

Darius rose from his seat, he reached over and gripped his axe firmly. He was being insulted, Noxus was being insulted. By her, the poster child. How dare she!

"Let me ask this of Noxus," Riven said while moving her hand, pointing at the field. One could hear the arrival of a bounty hungter, followed by thundering gunshots.

"If you are so strong, if Noxus is so strong, then why does it have the weak under its rule? Under its care? Why does it care about its soldiers in the slightest? If you are so strong, Noxus, if Grand General Swain is meant to be the ruler of a nation, why does he need soldiers, generals? Why must those we apparently dominate become enslaved? Why are they not Noxians, and instead are considered animate tools? Is that what being a Noxian is? Am I right for drawing such a comparison, that slaves are slaves and soldiers are soldiers? You may say no, but I think that is the common conception. I was an animate tool once, and I was called the poster child of Noxus. For me to have things like 'emotion', was to admit weakness, yet there they are!" Riven let out a sorrowful laugh. "Every single sentient being, they have emotions. Whether it is anger, love, sorrow, anything, they have emotions. Was I strong back then? No. I was strong in a different way, but not truly strong. Yet all the generals, the leader of Noxus himself told me, told us, otherwise. How awful."

Soraka backed away from Miss Fortune, who was advancing on the healer. A gunshot wound on her thigh made the Starchild limp while she focused on healing the more grievous hole in her stomach, the flesh quickly knitting together thanks to her magic. The bounty hunter cocked her guns, widened her stance, and started to laugh maniacally. Soraka winced, this was going to hurt. A gloved hand grabbed the Starchild's shoulder and flung her backwards, albeit harshly. The ensuing bullet hell that erupted from the pistols flew every which way, though Soraka herself did not suffer any wounds. Any bullet, stray or aimed, that should have hit her did not. Riven stood in front of the healer, her broken sword held out in front of her, attempting to use the flat side of the blade as best of a shield as she could to minimize the damage. The Exile panted heavily, her arms and legs missing bullet sized chunks of flesh that were cauterized from whatever magic coated the projectiles.

Before Miss Fortune could move, a kama flicked out and pierced her thigh. The woman could only let out a gasp of pain before Akali silently appeared behind her.

"BLUE TEAM MEMBER HAS BEEN SLAIN!"

Riven took a breath in and pulled her blade free from the ground. She continued to speak while Soraka made her way towards the Exile, preparatory healing magic seeping from her hands.

"How does this hypocrisy work? How is Noxus able to stand, to fight, to breath, when its very foundations are laughable? When the people in rule don't care for the people who helped create Noxus and that it drives people away? The Grey Order was driven away by Darkwill, and I have no doubt that Swain will not welcome them back into the fold because they are 'traitors', like me. I am _not_ a traitor of Noxus!"

Darius emitted a low snarl. A traitor and a liar. Soon it would not matter, he could see the positioning of the demonic jester that was quickly advancing towards her undetected. He would put an end to her nonsensical drivel.

"What is the meaning of strength?" Riven allowed this question to hang in the air for a bit before clarifying her question. "I love Noxus. I love its ideal, the strong deserve to rule, but what then do you do with that strength? Strength, in the face of adversity. Courage in place of what should make the strongest being cower in fear. Who deserves this strength? Only the select, worthy few? I am here, and I am saying that the Ionian war was wrong. I am saying that how Noxus was ruled, is currently ruled-"

A jack in the box appeared in front of Riven without warning. She took a step back, feeling the healing magic from Soraka wash over her but knowing what would come next. Riven would not turn around in time, she knew that, Darius could see she knew that, but she tried to retaliate anyways.

A cackle of laughter. The whistle of wind. The thud of a body.

The crackle of hungering frost.

Shaco fell face forward, completely encased in ice as his characteristic smile stayed plastered on his face. The clown was unable to move, but Riven could see the quick salute that Ashe gave her. She nodded to the archer and drove her blade down into Shaco's chest.

"BLUE TEAM MEMBER HAS BEEN SLAIN!"

Fizz, a short fish-like creature, hopped towards Riven with a smile on his tricky face. He held his hand out where a fish materialized. He chucked the smelly fish directly at Riven, only to be intercepted by the Minotaur. Alistar took the fish to his face while dragging Katarina with him, who was still attempting to break free of his grip.

Riven glanced at Alistar, who returned her look with a thumb's up. He had this under control. Katarina finally one of her hands broke free of his grip and started to enthusiastically stab into her captor, but his thumb did not waver.

Riven took the opportunity to continue talking, watching Ashe advance towards Alistar while Gangplank fended off Akali near the Nexus. "-is wrong. That they are not representing what Noxus is supposed to be. What will the people think of me then for saying such things? One person, fighting, struggling, against all who say I am wrong, not backing down, not surrendering, and stating the truth of the matter for once?"

A gigantic shark appeared, seemingly out of nothing, and swallowed Alistar whole. The bull responded by uppercutting his way to freedom, showing how unbreakable his will truly was and shattering several of the megashark's teeth. Katarina, unfortunately, was flung off of Alistar and was catapulted towards the platform past the Nexus, often dubbed by Summoners as the "spawn point" for their champions.

This did not deter Fizz as he jumped on top of his trident and propelled himself into the air, expected to meet with the minotaur midair. Instead a shadow of death crashed down on him. The monolithic blade of Riven blotted the sun out as it met flesh and slammed him down onto the ground, cracking the stone bricks that composed it. Fizz groggily got to his feet and stabbed forward, piercing her abdomen.

When he attempted to pull away, Fizz quickly realized he could not. Riven grabbed onto his trident and yanked it towards her. This not only pulled the Tidal Trickster off his feet, but made a spurt of blood jet out from her stomach. He could see her sword now clearly brandished. The broken blade had changed, _transformed_. It wouldn't be right to call her sword such a term, for it would insinuate that it was meant to be handled by man. It was more of an obelisk of darkest obsidian firmly gripped by the Exile. As the blade came down onto him, Fizz could feel a harsh wind slice into his skin, through flesh and bone far before the slash itself actually touched him.

"BLUE TEAM MEMBER HAS BEEN SLAIN!"

Riven stepped around the corpse of the fallen Trickster, and slowly pulled out the trident that was still embedded in her. A jet of blood, a flinch of pain on her face as hook on the trident's prong ripped through vital organs and flesh, followed by the sound of the weapon clattering to the ground was all that was heard while she made her way towards the Nexus.

Darius took broad strides towards the crystal screen, gripping his axe in his beefy hand. He almost mimicked the stride Riven stepped with.

"I love Noxus. I love its people. I have never stopped loving Noxus, for it was not She who deserted me, it was those in charge. To show my sincerity..." Riven stopped in front of the Nexus. She looked to her right and saw the other tower still standing. Alistar rumbled over and swung his fist back. With one mighty punch, he sent the defensive tower crumbling to the ground, an explosion of magical energy signaling its fall. The minotaur then made his way towards Soraka, who winced at the sight of the various wounds that decorated his body.

"I wish to remind you all of my first speech. About Ionia, and my views on that. To show my earnest, my honesty, my conviction, I will be going to Ionia. I am going to help with its rebuilding efforts. That is one of the many wrongs I will try and make right, as much as I can. I am going to help Ionia rebuild, I am going to help the Freljords as well, and in both places, I am going to speak with the Noxians left behind, discarded by Noxus, and I promise you all here and now..."

Cracks in the crystal screen could be seen forming from Darius' titanic grip alone, yet the broadcast still played.

Riven made it to the Nexus, only scant feet away from it. When she spoke once more. "I am going to rebuild Noxus. I asked you all what the point of strength is. The point of strength, for me? Let me answer that. Look at this field, look at what has been done." The sound of a deep bellow filled the air, followed by the whistle of artillery fire. Cannon balls dropped from the sky all about Riven. She would have to retreat away from the Nexus if she wished to minimize the damage, the advance of Gangplank and Katarina towards her evident.

Instead, she raised her sword above her head, and stabbed it into and through the wall of the Nexus. She used it as a makeshift cover for any of the metal spheres that wished to crush her, but offered no protection from the shrapnel that exploded about her, ripping and tearing into the sections of clothing and flesh that her armor did not protect. Riven kept her large, gauntleted right hand resting behind her head to ensure that no stray shrapnel would instantly kill her as she spoke, "Was I alone in achieving victory? No. Without these people, without comrades, without the weak, without the strong, without people, you are worth nothing. Without Soraka, Alistar, Akali, Ashe, I could not have achieved this victory. It was not my strength alone, it was and always will be the strength of the many that anything in life will be achieved. Noxus as it stands, should be the ruler of nothing. It should have no citizens, it should have no people following Her leaders because they do not deserve Noxus. They wish to embody personal strength? Let them fight by themselves in the League, what use are teammates if you are so strong? What use is an army when you can wipe out city-states with your power alone? I am strong enough to admit that I do not know everything, that I do need others to speak to, to converse with, to fight alongside with in order to attain victory in battle and in life."

Riven staggered, the damage now palpable from the amount of blood that flowed from her wounds. By the time Gangplank rounded the corner, he met the skull of a minotaur charging at his stomach. He sighed once more and braced for impact, which made the salty pirate sail through the air. Katarina flitted behind Alistar, sticking her tongue out at him when Akali stepped in her path and glared at her, effectively stopping her advance.

Riven turned away from the Nexus, facing apparently nothing but the Fields of Justice that sprawled out before her. Soraka made her way over to the Exile, healing magic seeping from the Starchild's fingertips once more. Riven gave Soraka a silent nod of thanks before focusing her gaze at the fields once more.

Whatever magic that was used for recording the match zoomed in for a portrait shot of Riven as she spoke once more. "I was a part of the Noxian-Ionian war, which served no gains and only losses for both sides. I chose to fight with the Ionians in this match because I am no longer a tool, no longer a weapon unable to think. I am stronger now than I have ever been because I fight for my beliefs. Tell me if I am wrong, in assuming this, but..."

Darius let out an angry roar. Her words. Her words were so irritating, so grating, so stupid. How dare she?

Swain, however, if one could see underneath his mask, smiled at the Hand of Noxus' display.

"I believe that Noxus is meant to be a name that is not feared for its strength, but respected. Not to trample its people underneath, but to help bring them up to your own strength, because without them, Swain? You can sit in your chair, strong, powerful, intelligent, and reign over your kingdom of dirt. I know this to be true. I will bring Noxus back to life, I will make it a name respected, not feared." Riven reached up above her, grabbed her sword's hilt and started to run alongside the Nexus, shearing through stone and steel.

Her voice carried a strong ring of confidence, of conviction, of strength as she spoke. "Let me assure you of one thing, Noxus is broken. I can see the signs, and I know this to be true because I was broken once. Hate me, love me, worship me, threaten me, I do not care. I do not want your sympathy, I want you to understand why." Riven tore her sword out, the Nexus started to shudder, and let out the telling sign that victory was achieved. "My name is Riven. I am the first Exile of Noxus, a broken city state. I know this to be true because I was broken once. I know what it is like to be broken. And because I know that, I can know this..."

Riven's voice boomed, easily heard across all of Summoner's Rift, "What is broken can be reforged!"

"VICTORY FOR THE PURPLE TEAM!"

Darius slammed the crystal screen onto the wall, shattering it completely. He stormed towards the door before stopping himself. He looked over at Swain and growled, "May I be excused, Grand General?"

"You may, General Darius. We shall convene tomorrow. Now, I will personally address this criticism she launched. Tonight, we think, we plan. Tomorrow, we talk."

Darius nodded and left the room, each step he took sounding like the final scream of a man.

* * *

That evening, Darius made his way towards a familiar tavern, "The Sweaty Apple". A fairly silly name, but it had good drinks and was his preferred watering hole. Darius shoved the entrance door open, his face illuminated by the electrical lights which showed his blood of others caked on his sharp facial features. He made his way towards a table, his table, with his axe dragging behind him. Everyone knew Darius' table, and everyone knew better than to get in his way when he wanted a drink.

The ogre of a man sat down on an almost comically small chair, leaned on the table and grumbled to himself. He placed his axe on the wall near him, the notches in the wood showing how often he rested it there.

"Hey, looks like we got ourselves a grumpy asshole." The hand of the offending voice slapped the back of Darius' head. "Izzat what you are, asshole? An asshole?"

Darius got up from his seat, grabbed the table instead of his axe, and smacked the insulter before placing it back down on the floor.

The zombified brute reeled back from the force, but not from pain. He was as big as Darius, as meaty as him but the immediate difference between the two was that Darius was alive, and this man was not. This was made evident by the stench of rotted flesh, the zombified man's green skin showing clear signs of necrosis and the skeletal hand that he had struck the Hand of Noxus with. A large, double headed axe was strapped to double barrel wide back while in his other hand a large frosty mug of ale was held.

With an overly toothy grin, the zombie replied by head butting Darius, making him sit down from the impact. Sion sat down next to him and let out a deep throated laugh, which almost sounded like his lungs were being played by an epileptic tuba player.

"Sion. Where is Draven?"

"Aw, you know he'll be here soon. He had a busy schedule t'day." The zombie slammed the ale in front of Darius. "Also, here. Saw the idiot's speech. Drink's on me."

Darius grunted, grabbed the mug and downed half of its frosty contents in a single gulp. Sion sat down across from the Hand of Noxus, the zombie's soulless, red eyes scanning the man. "Got to you that bad, huh?"

"A traitor dares spout such nonsense," Darius growled. "And broadcasted across Valoran? Noxus is finally unified after all this time. And what will she bring? Civil war, if her words hold any sort of sway with the common person."

"Yeah..._if_," Sion let out a deep sigh. It was strange that a zombie such as him could still breath, and if it were not for all the decayed flesh, one could mistake him as still living rather than undead. "Noxians, they're different today. Y'prolly missed th'stuff afterwards, huh?"

"I did."

Sion shook his head, a stray piece of hair that perilously clung to his skull peeled off and floated onto the table. "After y'left, Swain addressed the little shit, and he wasn't happy, oh no. He was reaming into her, and she wasn't havin' none of that. Then, in the middle of their argument Steed, th'bitch Morgana and even lil'Annie came up. I was there 'cuz hell, if I had the chance, I'd tear th' traitor's pompous head off and bring her polished skull for us to drink out of, but, y'know...stupid League."

Darius could tell, despite the pupiless eyes of Sion, that his friend was quite upset with the fact that he could no longer kill who he wanted when he wanted. It was something that the zombified soldier lived with on a day to day basis. A relic of a bygone time.

"Anyhoo!" Sion slammed the table. He had sidetracked himself and tried to go back to what he was talking about. "That's when the little brat made her teddy kick the Grand General."

"...She did _what._"

"Y'heard me," Sion grunted. He drummed the table with his fingers, growling aloud, "If Steed didn't interrupt with his crap, book deal this, interview that, then it woulda been a bloodbath, I swear. But nooo..."

Darius' attention wavered as the subject of three men gossiping nearby became prevalent. They were barely audible to most, but Darius could hear them as clear as day..

"It was...nice, to see a Noxian capable of...of that, of that kinda warmth, y'know?"

"Did you see the look in her eyes? It's...It's so different. Kinda weird, I haven't even seen that look in my wife's eyes."

"It was a bit weird, I gotta admit. They looked...They looked like she understood, y'know?"

"If you think about it, _Riven _made some pretty valid points: why are we like this? How did Noxus get to be like this?"

"Why...oh...oh shit."

The man that realized Darius glaring at them slapped his friends, and pointed at the Hand of Noxus with a nudge of his head. The other two fell instantly quiet.

Too little, too late.

"No dissent," Darius growled. He got up, finished his drink off and stormed over to the men. He glowered at the trembling trio. "Continue your conversation. Which of you think that woman is anything else but a traitor?"

The men looked at Darius, clearly terrified of him. None of them replied.

"I ask once more, which of you is being a dissident? Which of you dares speak against Noxus?" Darius reached over and grabbed one of their heads, his hand surprisingly able to encapsulate the top of the poor man's skull. "This safety is what Noxus ensures, what strength brings us. Unity through strength, and you dare question it? If you do, then that same strength can be and will be used to crush the weak that dare oppose it. She is weak. Noxus is not."

None of the men replied. Darius considered leaving them alone, evident by his release of the man's head and him turning around. He took two steps towards his table when one of them opened their foolish mouths. "Wh-what...what is the point of strength?"

Darius' eyes flashed red. That question grated his ears, it sounded like knives across a chalkboard. He reached over, grabbed the offending man's throat and heaved him towards Sion. "Dinner's on me."

Sion grinned, caught the man and promptly scalped him with the sharp edges of his bony hand.

The other two men looked up at Darius, quivering. He stared at them, they were talking with the dissenter. No mercy. The Hand of Noxus reached out towards another one of them, the man screamed in fear. He was weak. He had no backbone. How was he alive this long? No point for such a _worm_ to exist in Noxus. Darius' hand wrapped around his neck, the man struggled, oh he did, but he was too weak. Darius slammed him onto the top of the bar, wood creaking from the impact.

The bartender looked over and shrugged. Nothing surprising to him, not in Noxus.

The man in Darius' grip squirmed, and gasped, "Y-you...you d-d-didn't *GASP* answer..."

"The point of strength is to rule over others. You deserve to rule over all if you are the strongest, that is the point of strength. If they refuse to subjugate to you, then you must reign them in."

"Th-then...*HURK* W-why is Swain ruling?"

Darius' eyes went wide with rage. He literally picked the man off the bar table, then pushed him downwards, snapping him backwards and forcing his spine to snap in half. Blood seeped out from the man's slowly tearing stomach, Darius almost did not notice the other one trying to escape through the window. The Hand of Noxus reached out for his axe, grabbed its shaft and was about to apprehend him when a buzzsaw was heard. The last man was one foot over the windowsill when he gurgled, teetered a bit, then half of him flopped back into the tavern while the other half flopped outside.

The doors burst open, a finely mustachioed man stepped in with his brightly colored clothing, his gelled up hair and his huge chin that would make most men envious. "Draven's in the house!"

He strutted over to Darius, grinning like a complete goofball as he bowed towards his brother. "Why hello there tall, dark and handsome, what're you doin' round these parts? Don't tell Draven, he already knows. It looks like he's havin' a drink with a friend. Draven's hurt! You didn't wait for him!"

The man laughed and held a hand out towards the windowsill. "You tried to execute some schlubs, and you were gonna take the last one! I'm hurt, really I am, which is why I decided to take initiative."

The sound of a buzzsaw was heard once more, roaring towards the window. Draven whistled while he patiently waited, Darius discarded the corpse into a corner while Sion watched the ensuing spectacle with a freshly skinned, cracked open skull in hand. A thump on the wood, and a pair of strange axes whizzed through the window towards Draven, who caught them by the center rings and flicked them back into a single unit. "And that, boys, and hopefully some fine ladies, is how _Draven_ does what he does best..." He struck a quick pose, his muscles bulging in emphasis. "He does it all: With _style_."

Draven let out a laugh, sauntered over to the table and sat in his seat. He snapped his fingers which made a buxom bar wench walk over with his drink. "Thanks babycakes. Yer always on time, _Draven_ time."

"Will you cut that out?" Darius growled.

"What? Bro, come on, relax a bit. It's just the Axecutioners now! Get a drink, sit on yer ass and let's cheers."

Sion agreed with Draven's sentiments with a nudge of his head, which made Darius groan in annoyance. "We are _not_, the Axecutioners. We go over this every time you say it: That is a stupid name."

"Then why was our squad called tha', eh?"

"Because _you_ put the paperwork in to call it that."

Draven laughed, "And who's fault is that, Mister I-Hate-Triplicate?"

"You could have chosen a better name."

"You didn't like _Draven _and the _Dravenaughts_, what choice did I have?!"

Sion grunted, "And besides, _you_ said it once."

Darius let out another sigh. He sat at the table and pointed at Draven, "You, never say that name again." He pointed at Sion, "And you. I was drunk."

"Uh huh. Sure y'were. Draven, remind me, was it after the first or tenth shot that-"

"You will not speak of that incident," Darius snapped at Sion, who guffawed in response.

Draven started chuckling uncontrollably, "Nah nah, it was more like-"

"I will gut you if you finish that sentence."

The men fell silent. Then Darius burst out in a fit of deep-throated laughter, despite the corpses and bloodshed about them. He motioned to the bartender to come over. The bartender walked over with several mugs of ale on a tray and placed it on the table. Darius eased into his chair, and tried to relax.

Yet, he could not get Riven's words out of his head. Every time he thought of them, the grating annoying feeling came back. Those words, those ideas, those concepts that...that philosophy, was stupid. The problem he was having, was that he could not refute them properly. Noxus was still standing, set in its history, in its tradition, yet...The attack done by the Zaunites, commanded by the Noxian generals at the time, he could not dismiss that. Did Darkwill make the command? The records say otherwise, he would not disbelieve them but what she said about that attack was true, how cowardly, how stupid it was. Yet how could the image of Noxus, the poster child, associate with those...those...Ionians? And live with them?

What a sickening thought. She might as well live in a mud hut and live with the pigs, with how backwards those people were. He put such thoughts out of his mind, he was right. Noxus was still standing, and she was an eye and ear sore.

She would pay the price for her betrayal. That would be Noxian justice, and she would pay for it as she should. Riven was a traitor, she was weak, she would die, but by whose hand? It mattered not, but he had to admit, he would prefer if it was by his hand that her life was taken. He wanted to be rid of her annoying voice, of her annoying face, of her annoying eyes. Her eyes, damn those eyes.

They were full of sorrow.

* * *

Swain walked into his bedroom, still adorned in his armor. He slipped off the breastplate, hung it on a coat rack, made his way over into a velvet seat and sat down on it with an audible thump. The Grand General waited quietly in the dark for quite some time until a purple light filled the room. LeBlanc stepped into view, smiling at Swain.

"Today could have gone better," she cooed.

Swain nodded in response. "It is no matter. She will be dealt with in time. Tomorrow, however..." His eyes narrowed. "Will you begin tomorrow?"

"With Jarvan? The seeds will start to sprout tomorrow, Jericho, darling. And while _those_ sprout..." LeBlanc walked over to Swain and sat on his lap. His hands came up and held her in place. "We will figure out what to do with the rest. We must make plans for Annie, figure out what can be done with the Fallen One, perhaps set some things into motion in Ionia, gain the allegiance of some sooner rather than later, and be ready to crush her. Besides, dear, did you see how Darius reacted? Oh, give him the time, give him the space, and he will be ready to crush Riven under his boot."

Beatrice hopped over to Swain's cheek and nuzzled him, as though she were echoing LeBlanc's words.

"But!" The Deceiver caressed his chin soothingly. "That can wait till tomorrow, my Grand General. For now, rest. All is taken care of."

Swain nodded and pressed his forehead against LeBlanc's. "Tomorrow it is."

The Deceiver removed herself from his lap, took a few steps away then disappeared into the wall. Swain shuffled over to his bed, his red eyes not showing fatigue. Instead, he looked over at his desk, walked towards it with broad strides and sat down on the chair there.

There was no sign of a limp in his walk, and as his eyes glowed a sickly green, he started to write. Tonight, he could skip sleep. He had plans to come up with. Swain reached around his desk, pulled open a drawer and flipped through some folders. He pulled one out saying, '_Voodoo Lands_', and set it on the table. He had found the Grey Order once, and kept their coordinates recorded for just such an occasion. He was hoping they would rejoin Noxus once he was in power, but after her display? No reason in keeping them.

A thin smile curled on his lips. All this time, all this planning, it will be worth it in just scant hours. Everyone would be dealt with in time. Riven, Annie, even Morgana, but first?

Demacia, and Jarvan came first.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Sorry this took so long, I had to organize a lot on this chapter alone, the flow and what I wanted to say. Thanks to KuzAnn for editing this as usual, I think you should all thank her for helping me out as well! Also, not only thank you to all my readers, but a shout out to Trolososaurus for his portrayal of Sion! Hopefully my new interpretation of Sion is a bit more spiffed up, and once more, thank you all, for reading!

Oh! And I haven't forgotten about your reviews! Any of them! I **will** get to them! Thank you all for all reviews, the good the bad and everything in between, and I promise I will reply to you!


	3. Another Lore Announcement

Announcement: Recent Lore Changes

I can't keep up guys. I really, really can't. Too many things are changing and it's getting very annoying. One of the big things that's annoyed me, is Udyr.

I will not change Udyr. Udyr is going to stay as an Ionian in my story because of how much I've developed him and kept him relevant to Ionia despite not giving him the Freljord connection.

Why will I not make him Freljordian?

My main reason: Why should I?

And why is the Freljord needed for Udyr's story? Why is Udyr needed to be the chosen one, the only one who can beat Lissandra when...he can't.

Lissandra herself came down to fight Udyr's master, who got killed without so much as a dramatic fight scene, because she was supposedly worried about the Spirit Walker's might. The might of a guy who died in plh. Maybe he died protecting Udyr! Except, he didn't, since Lissandra didn't consider him a threat and that's why he lived.

Now that Udyr has finished in Ionia, he can go back to the Freljords, flex his muscles and show Lissandra what happens when you spare him and-

He joins Sejuani. Why? Because he's a wuss. No really, he's a big wuss. His might can't beat Lissandra, he couldn't beat Lee Sin who was a down trodden monk weighed by the weight of his sins! So how can he fight Lissandra by himself? He must join Sejuani.

I was never again him being more friendly with Sejuani, that makes sense really, but to say, "We are allied with her" now? No. Nooope. That doesn't make sense, for three reasons.

1) He fought alongside Ashe in the Ionia vs Noxus Rematch, he would show her the slightest amount of respect.

2) Sejuani is completely warlike and if he was still an asura/feral figure than he would join her, except he's supposed to be balanced now, right? What has Ionia taught him? Why would he choose Sejuani over Ashe if he's supposed to be less feral?

3) Does he deem himself that weak that he needs allies to fight Lissandra, even though she came down herself to take care of the original Spirit Walker? It's really...weird, really.

And the point of me bringing up these conflicts wasn't for possible ones, because so much confusion is being made. Why is Udyr needed in the Freljords? Why him, over anyone else? Can you explain why it must be Udyr, and not keep the story focused on Ashe, Sej, and Lissandra and their respective people?

Here's a better question, how would their story suffer if you took Udyr away? How would their story suffer without his inclusion? I can do that really easily, because there's so many things in Ionia for him to take care of.

In short, I ask you this: How would the Freljord's story suffer without the inclusion of Udyr?

It wouldn't. You have SO many other facets, factors and beings within the Freljords that it wouldn't be affected. Trundle isn't needed to fight Udyr since Lissandra kicked his master's ass. The fact that I can take Udyr away from the amount of lore we are given, and be shown a great potential for conflict still, for events to happen, with so many characters that Udyr feels shoehorned in.

I already have established a lot of the connections with the champions if you've read my short stories. This includes Lee Sin and Sejuani, and I do not plan on altering his interactions with them with how I've written.

I was hoping to save this document for when I wrote Udyr versus Varus, but I can't hold it back now. I'm posting what I think Udyr's story as an Ionian would have been, if he was kept in Ionia.

What I will do with the lore:

I am going to explore the old lore as extensively as I can to use unused avenues and unused potential. I will not be writing Karthus as he is in his new lore, and I have extensive reasons for that which I can post if you all care to read, I have my own interpretation of Katarina's scar while maintaining the same desired result, Soraka and Warwick's story I'm not changing, and the list goes on. I've already invested too much in their characterization.

I hope you all understand that I will only be taking from the new lore if I feel it's appropriate/needed.

I am sorry for my tardiness, but all these lore changes is really frustrating to me as a fanfic writer because I have to make decisions on the stories that I did not think I would have had to make.

However, I will be honest, I am feeling more drained with all of this. My updates are going to be even slower...I will post the next chapter for Blood for Noxus within 2 weeks, I promise that, and I will finish all of my promised stories.

However, I am going to start working a lot harder on my own original work as well. I'm thinking of starting up a webcomic in all honesty, though I am a bit more of a writer than an artist. If you, my audience, care to read my original work, please let me know! I have seen a review or two saying that they would like to see me with my own work, and I think it's time I started seriously considering it.

That does not mean I am going to halt these stories. They **will** be completed.

Thank you all, my beloved readership, for everything really. Without all of you, I wouldn't be where I am today.

~Viper of Grand


	4. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Prince? Are you ready?"

Jarvan was outside on the balcony silently leaning against the railing while he watched the snow gently float downwards. It was not that cold of a night from what he remembered, easily bearable with even a thin jacket. Nevertheless, cold or moderate temperatures, that was not what made this night special.

"Prince Jarvan?" the voice called out again to no avail.

The Prince swore he saw a glint of light, something, on the walls of their castle. A firm hand shook him out of his trance. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw the hand belonged to his father's seneschal, Xin Zhao.

He had fewer wrinkles back then, and his long black hair had nary a gray strand in its dark locks. This was Snowdown Eve years ago, back when he was just thirteen years old.

The young prince turned around and rested his back on the railing and replied, "I'm ready, Xin. Has father returned yet?"

"Not as of yet. He should be arriving within the next hours."

Jarvan let out a loud sigh and rolled his head back. "Ugh, he's going to be late, like always. This sucks."

The Seneschal's brow furrowed. His calloused hands clapped the young Prince's shoulders in a firm yet professional manner. "Do not speak of your father in such a way. He is a king. He has his duties."

"I know," he grumbled. "It's just that he promised this time. I just hoped..."

"I'm aware I promised," a new voice boomed. "So long as the people hold belief in their king, the worth of the king's word is insurmountable to any gold or treasures he may own."

A small grin tugged at the edge of Xin's face. Jarvan blinked, looked at Xin, then looked at the silhouette. The Seneschal had tricked him. He let out a small laugh and started to make his way to the shadow.

His father, Jarvan remembered how he used to look up at his towering, regal figure. A strong jaw line, bushy eyebrows and dark onyx hair flowed down his head and over his crown not unlike a waterfall. His broad chest was covered by the finest crafted armor of the royal blacksmiths, his neck wrapped with the finest of silk cloaks, both breastplate and cloak bearing the Demacia's national symbol.

"Father! You made it!"

The king gave his son a stoic nod of his head. "I gave you my word that I would, Jarvan."

"But...you're early," the young man said, confused. "What about-"

"I finished all prior duties as quickly as I could."

"But Baron Lichtenstein always takes for_ever_ to-"

King Lightshield smirked and interrupted Jarvan with a loud pat on his belt. Metal rang, and from underneath the cloak the hilt of a beautiful sword could be seen. "Sir Lichtenstein is never one to turn a duel down, son."

"And Sir Lightshield is not one to say hello to his wife."

A woman's delicate hands brushed the back of the king's head. Jarvan's eyes lit up. The King chuckled and reached behind him, bringing her forward. Light brown hair, hazel eyes, her perpetually tanned skin, the air of sophistication she carried with every step, Jarvan couldn't help but wonder if she could age. He found out in the recent years how quickly such a demeanor could change. But this, this was perhaps one of his happiest moments in his life. No reason to spoil it.

She smiled at the young prince and pushed his father towards him. "Go on, dear, you promised me you would."

The King instantly tensed up and started to grumble aloud. "It's not how..._men_, do things, milady. It's not so simple as...it is difficult to just..."

"My sweetest King," she cooed. "Either you do it, or I ask Xin politely to help you do it."

King Lightshield could not help but let out another chuckle, leaving Jarvan completely confused. He walked over to his son, straightened his back and started to speak. "Jarvan. You are my son. You are the next in line for kingship, to be the ruler of Demacia, and you have a long road to travel."

Jarvan rolled his eyes, it was one of those speeches.

"So long as you carry our traditions, so long as you protect Her people, Demacia will forever be ours. Through you, our lineage will continue, and though you can be headstrong, and foolhardy at times, I know where your loyalty will always lie."

He drew back, not sure what brought this on. His mother let out a forced cough and lightly struck King Lightshield's shoulder. "What I am trying to say, is that the path in front of you may be long, but...You will be king, one day. I ask all of my people, to believe in the word of their king, to believe in my word. The word of a man is all he is worth."

King Lightshield shifted forward and knelt down in front of young Jarvan, smiling at his son. "So, I ask you tonight of nights, this question: Will you be a worthy king?"

"Yes father, I will," Jarvan replied, instantly shifting his posture into a perfect vertical line, shoulders squared back his chin up.

"You give me your word?" he held his hand out, expecting Jarvan to grab it.

The Prince did so, clasping his father's hand. "I give you my word."

"Good lad. Then, you have my unwavering faith."

King Lightshield stood up and tugged at Jarvan. "That does not mean I cannot advise you though. Now then, I believe the Crownguards can do with some rescuing."

"Rescuing?"

Jarvan's mother tittered softly, "If I remember correctly, the Crownguard's soiree is going to have many visitors, including a particular Monsieur Laurent and his daughter."

"Oh no..." Jarvan groaned. "Not Fio."

"Oh yes," she chirped back. "Little Fiora." His mother's lower lip rolled into a playful pout. "Don't tell me that you still haven't forgiven her for-"

"No," the young prince grunted, crossing his arms while his lips contorted into a pout.

This elicited a good natured laugh from all three adults, which eventually made Jarvan chuckle. His father motioned to him to follow, and they started to walk.

Jarvan took three steps when he felt a strange pain hit his chest. No, it was strange for him at the time, but he was used to the sensation now: Pain.

He looked down, the head of a crossbow bolt was coated in a slick, crimson liquid and protruded from the center of his chest. With a careful poke, the young prince winced at the sensation of the wooden shaft pushing at his organs and ribcage. It was then he realized that this was his blood, and that this bolt was firmly embedded in him. This was not a part of the memory. Jarvan would have remembered being assassinated, right?

"_**YOU.**_"

That voice. The prince recognized it immediately. What was he doing here?

Jarvan teetered to and fro, the dreamscape about him melting away into an unrecognizable room. No, not a room...a tent?

"_**Do you realize that I was there that night, Princeling? Do you know that I could have ended you, just like that?**_"

"Wh...?" Jarvan gritted his teeth and tore out the crossbow bolt that was still embedded in him. His youthful body started to grow in size, an accelerated growth spurt as his hair grew longer, his muscles expanded and he started to take on the form of his current age. The bolt had pierced his heart, he should have been dead, but this was just a dream. Jarvan was in control, and he knew that voice.

"Swain."

A dark figure surged out of the shadows, a raven screeched at him as the large, monstrous figure of the Grand General stepped forward. His six, beady eyes glared at the Exemplar of Demacia, his talons cricking with no particular rhythm as he barrelled down at the Prince.

Jarvan grabbed at the air, his lance materialized. He was in control of his dream. With a loud bellow, he rushed forward, aiming to pierce his lance through Swain's chest only to have something pluck him from the ground.

A raven grabbed the prince in its beak and slammed him into the wall.

"_**Everything in your life was handed to you on a silver platter. Everything in life was given to you. Knowing this, you still dared to think you were above others. That, royalty, has its perks. That a self-entitled, spoiled brat, deserves to have the power, the respect that you have.**_"

Multiple golden chains reached up and clamped down on Jarvan's limbs while a hook wormed its way towards his eyes. A quick flick, and Jarvan's eyelids were pierced and forced to watch as Swain advanced on the helpless prince. Scenes of his parents shocked, sobbing even, at the death of their son at the ripe age of thirteen years old. What dream was this?

Swain loomed over Jarvan, his beak opening and closing. "_**You won't remember this when you wake up, Prince, but I assure you, it is time to finally take what I deserve. Consider this, the beginning of your end.**_"

His beak surged down and pierced Jarvan's stomach. The Grand General of Noxus started to hungrily devour the prince's entrails, the slurps of flesh being torn and swallowed an all too real sensation and sound.

He struggled as much as he could, but he could not break free no matter what he tried. Wracked in pain, Jarvan could not take much more, and finally let out a yell, and woke up.

The prince was awake in his bed, wearing only a pair of comfortable shorts. He grabbed his stomach, checking to see if he was still in one piece, his entire body drenched in sweat. A loud knock on his door was followed by a familiar, feminine voice.

"Prince? Are you alright?" she growled, concern evident in her tone.

Jarvan wiped his face, still shuddering. What dream was...What was he dreaming about? Why did it feel so real?

He grabbed his silk covers and attempted to dry himself quickly before sliding out of bed. Jarvan grabbed a nearby robe and swayed to and fro, a familiar sensation on the Fields of Justice whenever he lost too much blood. What an unsettling dream.

Jarvan opened the door and saw Shyvana standing there, fully dressed in her armor despite it being nearly...What time was it?

"I am fine, Shyvana."

His voice sounded as strong as ever, but she could smell his fear. It clung to her nostrils, the sensation had a sting to it not unlike salt in an open wound. That was the only way to describe this feeling, something so unfamiliar, for what could possibly scare her prince?

"Are you sure, Prince?" She gave him a quick, respectful bow and took a step back to give him more personal space. "I can reschedule your meeting with-"

"Wait, reschedule? Meeting?" Jarvan blinked and shook his head, sending a drop of sweat flying from the tip of his nose. "What time is it, Shyvana?"

"It's almost eight in the morning, your meeting with the Laurent is in two hours," she answered. "I was waiting for you on the training grounds for nearly an hour. When you did not come, I guessed that something changed your mind."

A strange discoloration started to spread across her cheeks and Shyvana bowed once more. "I'm sorry for waking you up. I didn't know you were asleep." She clicked her teeth in quiet thought, trying to think of what else to say before this became any more awkward.

"No, Shyvana," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I just...it was a bad dream I had. It's nothing important."

"Are you sure, Prince?"

"Absolutely," Jarvan said in his usual, confident tone. "I will see you on the training grounds in fifteen minutes."

Shyvana clicked her heels together, saluted the prince, and attempted to walk away in the traditional Demacian march. Unfortunately, even after all of these years, she was still not quite accustomed to it and looked more like a crippled duck than anything.

"Shyvana," Jarvan called out. "You can walk normally. If anyone asks, I gave you permission."

She looked back and gave Jarvan a nod before she relaxed and started to walk with her usual quick stride.

Jarvan closed the door and made his way to his personal bathroom. The prince ran the sink and looked in the mirror, staring at himself. He cupped his hands underneath the running water. Once the water started to overflow from his hands, he splashed it on his face, trace amounts of droplets fell to the ground and struck the wall behind him. The prince grabbed one of the towels off of the nearby rack and started to dry his face.

He saw a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. Jarvan looked around, bewildered. Was someone else here with him? No no, that was just paranoia from the dream.

Jarvan walked out of the bathroom, not aware that his reflection in the mirror did not mimic his actions. Jarvan's reflection smiled, and melted away into the faint image of LeBlanc. With a soundless laugh, she disappeared.

The prince could not help but wonder while he started to dress himself in his armor, just where exactly was that laughter coming from?

* * *

In the courtyard of the Darkbourne Hold, the former fortress and home of Boram Darkwill, a crowd of people were gathered around a formal stage. One member of the Raedsel stood guard at each corner more out of tradition and symbolism rather than actual concern for the Grand General.

On the stage, decorated in his full regalia, with a lavishly crafted podium in front of him, Swain seemed to be waiting for something, or someone, specific. He rested his hands on the podium, next to a small, smooth crystal with the simple enchantment of voice amplification. Behind him, the High Council stood in a rigid, militaristic pose, along with one summoner at each end of their row. For what reason the summoners were here, one could only assume. On Swain's right stood Darius, same posture, but he was eyeing every member of the crowd.

The Hand of Noxus' intense glare missed no detail. Within the crowd, several people wearing summoner robes along with small badges that identified themselves as moderators stood, waiting for Swain to speak.

Darius looked right to left, he blinked and did a second cursory scan, and then a third. He kept doing so, looking for any odd signs, until his ninth scan picked up something: a thin man had suddenly appeared in the crowd. Long, blonde hair was barely kept in place by a black top hat, a willowy physique clad in a dapper tuxedo, he looked as though a gentle breeze would carry him away.

The moment he arrived, however, Swain started the address.

"Citizens of Noxus," he said, his helmet not impeding his voice's clarity in the slightest. "It has been a month since the High Council has publicly addressed you."

Darius could not stop staring at this man. Who was he, and why was he so unsettling to the Hand of Noxus?

"Now onto business." Swain leaned onto the podium, allowing a dramatic silence to fall over the crowd. "My first announcement: The crime rate has lowered by another ten percent in this past month due to the efforts of the newly formed Vigiles, formerly headed by Commander Thénardier. This is because the reign of the Demon Jester is finally at an end in Noxus."

Some stories said that Shaco had inhabited Noxus longer than Boram Darkwill himself had. The Demon Jester seemed to stretch throughout the history of Noxus, but with no discernible explanation as to how he came to be, or why he was here. What was unfortunate, however, was Darkwill's apparent lack of care for the exploits of the jester. No one knew when the jester would strike next, his game never cared for the social, influential or economic status of his targets, and he could strike three times in the same day or once a year.

"Unfortunately," the Grand General said before any revelry could be had. "I must also report that Commander Thénardier has given his life for Noxus. He died serving his country. Allow me to reassure you: his replacement shall be no less adequate than he."

Darius had heard of how Thénardier's grisly death. He kept on fighting to the end, though, despite having several jack-in-the-box shoved down, and up, into at least five orifices.

Swain looked to his right and gave a slight nod to the summoner. The familiar hum of magic, and a burst of blue light erupted.

Loud, thundering footsteps announced the summoned being's presence.

"You may applaud for our esteemed champion, and newest commander of the Vigiles unit, Sion," Swain crowed.

The undead champion appeared on stage and cast a glance at Darius. Despite the fact that his exposed jaw was in a permanent smile, Darius could tell that Sion was very pleased with this promotion due to the faint glint in his friend's eye. This was not unexpected, he was excited about it the night before.

Which reminded Darius, Draven kept annoying them about asking him what he was going to do today in regards to the assembly. They never did find out what it was that Draven was so excited about since he kept getting sidetracked by his mug. After their fifteenth beer, they had to drag Draven's drunken ass out of the pub the moment the "Glorious Executioner" started to try and make out with his glorious reflection in said polished beer mug.

Sion made his way over and stood next to Darius while a round of applause rippled out from the crowd, including that particular man in a top hat.

"In terms of law enforcement, Sion and his Vigiles will not be alone."

The undead man's brow rose, the final bits of his eyebrow denoting his confusion.

"Shaco was not thwarted by the lone efforts of the Vigiles. It was through combined efforts of the Vigiles and of the elite Vigiles Noctes division that the Jester was subdued. The Vigiles Noctes are led by Commander Emilio Leuko. Speaking of whom..."

Swain motioned at the crowd, and pointed at the man Darius had been staring at the entire time. "Commander. Your report."

"Of course, Grand General," the strange man said in a light, slightly off accent. His voice seemed to be naturally amplified and had no apparent need for a crystal. It must have been his own magic. Every step he took with his lanky legs carried him a fair distance. The crowd parted for him as he approached the stage, a smile on his willowy face. He stopped at the foot of the stage and looked up at Swain, the imposing figure of the Grand General easily dwarfing him.

"Dude looks like a chick," Sion grunted to Darius.

"He is just skinny."

"You kidding? Guy's got wider hips than me. That ain't normal."

Darius shot the zombie a strange look, not sure what he was talking about before he refocused his attention on this Leuko fellow. He knew the man well enough through documents and general military knowledge. It was said that any time Swain truly needed to consult with a commander, a strange man who looked so frail that a sword would most certainly snap his wrists in his grip, would appear. Darius had never seen him in person until now.

"I'm pleased to say that I have nothing to say in regards to my report," he said with a chuckle. Emilio suddenly flicked his finger upwards and bowed towards Swain as the Grand General patiently waited. "For why say, when I can show?"

"Yack yack yack, get to the point," Sion grumbled.

"The point, my comrade in arms, is this," the thin man said in a playful tone, having heard the undead man's grumblings. A surge of blackish magic erupted from his hands as he held them out to his sides. Two men appeared, completely bewildered by the sudden shift.

"Two more terrorists, my Grand General, for you. Our summoners will interrogate them, see what they have to offer as we process their belongings and notes."

Swain gave a slight nod to the man. "You have evidence then?"

"Yes," Emilio replied in a confident tone. He pointed at both men simultaneously as he said, "These are, without a doubt, agents of Draythe Darkwill."

Draythe Darkwill.

Darius' teeth ground against one another in annoyance. The eldest son of the late Boram Darkwill. Draythe was not like Keiran, Draythe was more slippery, a lot less physically fit than his younger brother but he had a natural talent for magic. Just a week after Swain's ascension, Draythe took all loyal followers and disappeared. How he was able to disappear without a trace, it was hard to say.

The week after that, rumors of a possible rebellion was whispered in the street. The week after, they started to strike from the shadows. A true coward's instinct to rely on hit and run tactics. The extent of the damage their attacks caused was kept low, in order to not panic the populace. This was what helped spark the reformation of the Vigiles force into an actual institute of law enforcement, and helped create the Vigiles Noctes.

Darius reached up to stroke his chin, he was admittedly somewhat impressed. His eye caught a strange reflection. For a single moment, he could swear that a woman was standing in place of where Emilio was. He squinted, and saw it was Emilio standing there once more. Sion's previous comment could not leave his mind. For someone like Sion to head the Vigiles made sense to Darius. For someone like Emilio? He did not trust the man's shifty eyes.

"Excellent work, commander. A much appreciated demonstration of your effectiveness," Swain affirmed in a pleased tone. "Guards, apprehend them. Commander. On your way."

While two members of the Raedsel moved towards the still shocked men while Emilio bowed towards the Grand General in an over exaggerated gesture.

An audience member unexpectedly spoke up. It was a summoner from the Institute, most likely one of the reporters that came to record the assembly. "What evidence do you have?"

Emilio raised an eyebrow while looking up at Swain, his playful smile still evident on his face. "Do I have permission to address this question, Grand General?"

"Yes."

The man spun around while snapping his fingers, the two men disappearing in a puff of black smoke. He regarded the woman who asked the question in a cordial tone, "Now, my dear, how may I assist you?"

"Noxus is well known for arresting without due cause or warrant, under Boram's rule. Are you continuing such tactics, guilty until proven innocent? What evidence do you have of their guilt?"

He wagged his finger as he replied, "What you say is absolutely true. That _was_ how matters were. But!" Emilio fell backwards and onto his shadow, quickly disappearing from view. The audience was not sure as to where he had gone to until he spoke again. The man's arm was around the summoner's shoulder as he rose from her shadow. "This is something that our esteemed Grand General wishes to change. Let's be honest, you and I, Boram's form of law enforcement was...awful. Abysmal, really. How many people suffered because of his ridiculousness? And!"

Emilio reached over and stroked her chin, pulling back her hood to reveal a woman in her late twenties, with medium length chestnut hair. "Not only to top that off, how much crime, how much corruption was unmoderated, uncared for? There is strength, and then there's spitting on the law of Noxus. More order, less chaos. This is a time that Noxus needs stability, not hedonistic, nonsensical anarchy. "

"But don't you fear you'll resemble Demacian policies too much if you try and-"

"Demacians tend to be living," Emilio shot back, still smiling all the while. "They also like to consume food and breathe air. Should we be the polar opposite as to how they are in every way and stop breathing, eating and generally living, darling? Just because we have decided that a little more law enforcement is for the greater safety of the general populace does not suddenly make us as rigid or ridiculous as the Demacians. That is why Sion, or I, are not the only ones in charge of our Vigiles and law enforcement. Any General, any member of the High Council, are the heads of Noxian law. If there is an occurrence such as...Mm, let me use the example of our esteemed general, Darius, and his solution for dissidents. The point of the Vigiles Noctes would be, and is, to assure that he does not abuse this power of his, while the point of the Vigiles would be to apprehend him if necessary."

A quick glance at Darius, Emilio's playful tone did not falter, his eyes lit with a strange enthusiasm. "Or if he deems me suspicious, he can simply remove me as he sees fit. It's a very controlled system in this way. Stay in line with the law, and you're assured safety. You wish to oppose the law, well, you oppose Noxus."

The summoner moved to ask him more questions, but a light chuckle and a gentle caress of her chin silenced her. "I would love to speak to you more, but I can tell from the Grand General's stare that I _need to _get back to work, and quickly."

The strange man flicked his wrist whimsically, making a card slip out. He placed it on the palm of the summoner's hand as he cooed, "I'll be available for further questions at noon, at this location, tomorrow. A little frente a frente, if you wish, answer whatever lingering questions you may have left. Farewell, mi amor."

With that, Emilio started to make his way out of the crowd, his lanky frame easily gliding past people. Darius allowed a frown scrawl across his face. Suspicious little man, that Emilio was.

With that done, Swain cleared his throat and started to talk about the next issue at hand. "The unemployment rate has been lowered by another full percent, meaning that for the first time since the end of our Ionian occupation, we have hit an all time high in employment. The opening of more factories have created many new job opportunities, as well as..."

Noxus had undergone in recent months thanks to Swain's rule, as well as a staggering improvement in the city's living conditions. With less random murders happening, more strict moderation of pollution and waste treatment, only few threats remained within the walls. After so long, Noxus was finally recovering from the abysmal failure that was the Ionian war. A united Noxus would easily be able to rule the land of Valoran, as it rightfully should. Under Swain's rule, such a dream was not far fetched.

However, that did not mean things were otherwise 'perfect'. Draythe was not the only "problem" Noxus had.

"...which includes a slight reduction of taxes for every citizen of Noxus. In the following months, the restoration of our older buildings, and with the reconstruction of Noxus' walls will begin. These efforts alone will help bring in hundreds of new jobs and job opportunities. Masters of architecture, runic inscriptions and artificers will be needed along with their apprentices, construction workers and artisans. Skilled work jobs will see a rise as we continue to shape Noxus into Her true form. This does bring up an issue, in regards to the borders of Noxus, that I will address soon. Another matter needs to be attended to first."

Swain held his hand out to his right. One of the summoners on the stage walked forward, a small burst of light blitzed out from his hand. When it died down he held a piece of paper that he handed over to the Grand General.

Swain took a quick look at the paper and nodded his head. The Grand General held it up as he said, "This is the report on the investigation that Lady Katarina Du Couteau underwent due to her poor performance in the other day's match and her 'supposed resistance' against fighting the Ionians. The result is as follows: She is, under oath, not a traitor to Noxus. Rest your hearts."

This statement seemed a little odd. Investigations by the League usually took weeks, even months, to complete. Who was it that Swain knew to be able to pull such strings in order to expedite the investigation? It was of no matter, the Du Couteau family were once an honorable family. The only reason he had not executed the lot of them was because of his own respect for the AWOL General Marcus Du Couteau, perhaps the only other man that could have matched Swain for the position of Grand General.

Such was life though, sometimes tragedies did happen, even to good families. First it was Cassiopeia, then it was Marcus, then Katarina started to spend more time with those disgusting Demacians, in particular that holier-than-thou Garen Cr-

"This however, does not exonerate Riven," Swain said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "She has openly stated that she refuses to come back to Noxus, and to defect to the Ionians. If she steps foot in Noxus, she will be detained and brought to the High Command. Onto more important business. There are two issues that remain that I must speak of before I deem this address adjourned."

Swain handed the paper back to the summoner, but kept his hand extended. He swung it over and pointed eastwards. "In three days I will visit the slums. They have moved into our very sewage system. An entire underground network of tunnels home to vermin, derelicts, disease, corpses and unproductive members of society. Boram allowed such conditions to thrive, he allowed for the rise of Mordekaiser to come to pass. I will not. In three days time I will personally visit the Master of Metal and I will stop his expansion once and for all."

The slums had once occupied less than a twentieth of Noxus in the past. Before Boram's death, the slums had expanded to nearly 1/8th the size of Noxus. The civil war that erupted afterwards made them expand to 1/6th of Noxus. It was a growing concern for the state of Noxus, never mind the fact that the denizens of the slums now had a ruler of their own. The king of squalor, the Master of Metal was conquering from within the walls of the beloved city itself, but no one dared challenge him, physically or verbally, not even Boram himself.

Since Swain's rise, however, this expansion had come to a complete halt, as though Mordekaiser were waiting, gauging the Grand General's next move.

"Citizens of Noxus, this is just the next in many steps. This is not a kingdom of dirt, despite what some _critics_ may say, but a nation of fertile soil. We will fight, we will strive and we will thrive, no matter the obstacles we may encounter, for we are forever strong."

Darius bellowed, "Forever strong," the moment Swain finished his sentence.

The audience quickly chanted back in unison, "Forever strong."

"Now, for the final item in this address. It is my belief that Noxus has not had..._recreation_, in some time."

'_Recreation?_'

"The Fleshing arena has been unused for far too long. I am not reviving the Fleshing events themselves, but it is my belief that some revelry is in order. The people of Noxus have not properly celebrated my ascendency. This is a crime in of itself. That is why in a week from today, the Grand Triumph will be hosted for three full days. For such an event, I wondered who would be best fit to host such games, such revelry?"

Darius scrunched his brow, he was not aware of this event in the slightest.

"There was only one answer to this question."

The familiar hum of summoning magic perked his ears. Who were they bringing in? The only Noxians who cared about showmanship were LeBlanc, that slippery woman, and-

"Thaaaaaaat's right, boys, girls, men and bee-yoo-tee-ful women! It's everyone's favorite!"

Draven stepped onto the stage, a voice amplification crystal in one hand while he swung his trademark axes in his other carelessly about.

"Draven's puttin' on a show for all of ya!"

The crowd was deathly silent at first. This was quickly replaced by raucous cheering as it roared out from the audience in a deafening blast, easily overpowering the light groan that escaped Darius' lips.

* * *

_Outskirts of Demacia_

In the fields of a farm, a twisted beast finally stopped squirming. Multiple crossbow bolts made their marks in his limbs along with what appeared to be a small tree trunk having impaled itself through his chest and pinned him into the ground. The creature's pathway of destruction was marked by withered crops and dead grass, the creature had the innate ability to absorb the life essence of any vegetation that it trod upon.

An emaciated creature, with eyes nearly shoved to the back of its sockets, skin tightly wrapped across bone to the point of nearly tearing, it resembled a gaunt skeleton in shape with fangs each the size of a human finger. It was unmistakable as to what this creature was: a wendigo.

Natural wendigos were more or less extinct in Valoran, partly due to being destroyed by their own prey, humans, and partly because they were fairly suicidal due to their cannibalistic diet and if they became too hungry, ate one another.

It was an unfortunate fact that wendigos themselves were nearly impossible to kill, since they themselves were incorporeal spirits. The human host had to be killed and then the spirit exorcised from the body. Afterwards they would become more or less harmless unless they were summoned by magic or desperation. It would have been a routine monster slaying, if it were not for the many problems that it caused.

This was a summoned wendigo, meaning that a ritual was needed for it. The rituals for summoning wendigos were not only outlawed but incredibly complex, time consuming, and the creatures themselves were completely uncontrollable. They had no sense of loyalty to anything but their sense of hunger and would always turn on their summoners. The only feasible reason one would create a wendigo was to inflict one of the worst forms of both mental and physical pain on an unfortunate victim, and they would need a lot of preparation time and space to do so.

But the problems did not end there. This wendigo, prior to the transformation, was a high ranking member of witch hunters. She only knew this because of the scant facial features that remained coupled with his attire. All trainers tended to have one protege, meaning that the absence of the youth was only a sign of more trouble.

And to top all of that was the path of dead grass that made a straight beeline to one of their haunts. It was for the reason that Vayne was on her way to the haunt to refurbish her equipment when she found the obvious trail of destruction it had caused and was able to track it down.

Vayne was luckily able to stop the creature before it could attack the village, which only begged the question: Why did it not attack sooner? Yet another factor consider. She reached into her pouch and withdrew a vial from within. With a light pop, the cork was freed and she poured the contents onto the corpse's head. Vayne casually tossed the vial away, then took out a piece of flint and a small rock from the same pouch, struck the two together and allowed the sparks to fall towards the wendigo's face.

The creature lit up instantly, a horrified farmer looking on in complete shock that she had effectively set fire to his field. Before he could say anything, she turned to him and said, "Bring more kindling. Its blood is poisonous, your fields will be contaminated if you do not burn them all."

"B-but...my harvest..."

Vayne put the rock and flint away, and reached into her pouch once more. This time, she took out a cheque book and a pen. With a few quick strokes, she tore out the cheque and handed it to the farmer with a gloved hand.

"I apologize for the loss of your fields."

Without saying a word more, Vayne left the stunned farmer and the funeral pyre. There was still the biggest problem of all to address: The haunt itself.

The haunts of witch hunters were secluded, secretive lodges. They were mostly used for when a hunter, or several of them, needed rest or to meet with others and needed to do so safely. The only people who knew of these haunts were the hunters themselves, and even then, only the leader of each conclave of hunters knew the locations of another conclave's haunt. All of the secrecy and complexity of a haunt's location was meant to keep these places as safe havens. In the inner circles of hunters, there were few secrets kept as well as those of their haunts.

How then, was the security of such a hidden location breached, never mind located?

Vayne had to find out. Too many factors, too much coincidence. She made her way towards the entrance of a gnarled tree, the footprints of dead grass an all too easy tell.

Though such a location might be obvious at first sight, the true secret lay beneath the rock. Vayne pressed the proper rock downwards and twisted it counter clockwise, which fired a spring and unlocked a secret hatch. easily navigated through the maze of catacombs under the earth, crossbow drawn and readied to fire. It was pitch black in the haunt, all forms of light extinguished. The familiar, heavy smell of copper hit Vayne's nostrils, further confirming her suspicions that the sanctity of the haunt was desecrated.

A quick tap on near the lens of her glasses lit the room up to her. If she were not so used to grotesque sights, if her stomach were any less steeled, what lit up before her would have made her too nauseous to comprehend what was being seen.

In the center of the room were the remains of a young girl, one she recognized as a trainee from her conclave, and numerous crimson glyphs, all bloodied linework started from her corpse . That only meant the trainer that had gone up was Frederick von man was a specialist in close quarters combat, very good with knives.

Vayne carefully made her way over, dragging her heel across the ground to break a single line of the runic writing in order to disarm any potential threat that the ritual may still have, out of habit more than actual danger, and stared down at the young girl's corpse. Entire chunks of her were devoured, Vayne could see the teeth marks of a person ripping into her skin, Vayne could see the bruises from struggling against her attacker along the remains of her bicep. Even the girl's face was torn apart, her lower jaw hanging by thin strands muscle. Despite the ravaged condition, Vayne could see that her eyes, the remnants of her cheeks and her upper lip were contorted in absolute fear.

Despite this scene, that was not what unnerved Vayne. There should be a magical trace from the ritual itself, yet there was none. There was no magical residue of any sort. The girl herself could not have been dead for longer than a few hours, depending on how long the wendigo change itself took, how long the struggle was, or how long it took to set up the ritual. So many factors that made this scene suspicious...

A casual look around the room, with runes literally lining every wall, every face, even the ceiling, drawn in blood, showed Vayne that whoever had enough time to do this, could have easily summoned a more powerful, more destructive creature. A wendigo took a lot of time in order to reach its maximum threat, and whoever did this had more than enough time to summon any more powerful creature, even a simple golem would have been more effective than a starving wendigo.

That meant only one thing: This was a warning. The lives of two people to act as a damn warning.

But from who? Who could have access to this sort of hellish ritual? How was this location discovered?

This haunt was no longer safe, and perhaps the other haunts were not as well. Were these two chosen by accident, or did they die for a purpose?

Vayne and her hunters had work to do. First things first, she needed to burn the corpse, destroy the haunt and then call her brethren in and relate to them the news.

The girl would be buried here, under tons of rock and rubble, and...

Vayne let out a sigh. She made her way over to the girl's corpse and drew out a silver crossbow bolt from her quiver. A quick stab into the girl's chest to reassure she was not a trap in waiting, then Vayne worked on freeing her hands. With a few harsh jabs, the organs were severed and allowed Vayne to fold the fleshy remains of her arms over her chest. A quick pass of the witch hunter's hand over her face closed the girl's eyes and removed the look of fear.

It was a pointless gesture, yes, but this was something Vayne could not stop herself from doing. Vayne instantly reorganized her priorities. Burn the corpse, destroy the haunt, relate the news to her other hunters, and then?

Vayne would find who was responsible for this, and put this very bolt through their head.

* * *

Within the early hours of the night, in the Darkbourne Hold, there was no trace of light save for the glimmer of a single candle.

In his bedroom, Swain sat with his back towards his desk. The desk's face was covered with various maps and notes, the light from the candles barely more than a glimmer. Despite the low light source, a torn envelope could be seen, a wax seal depicting the Institute's symbol broken. The letter was nowhere to be found.

He seemed to be waiting for someone in the dull light, Beatrice restlessly moving to and fro on her favorite perch, the Grand General's shoulder plate, which was the only piece of armor he wore now. His facial features could be barely made out in the dimmed room, but it was evident that his face now lacked any wrinkles a man his age should have, and the black veins that originally plagued his lower jaw had disappeared without a trace.

"Hail, Grand General," a familiar Deceiver's voice cooed. She appeared out of thin air, appearing before him in her usual elegant splendor, her golden staff held comfortably behind her waist. "Do forgive me for popping out like that, I was bothered by a certain jester."

Swain's red eyes narrowed, a harsh breath left his lips. "Matron. Can you handle him?"

"Jericho, darling, of course I can," LeBlanc said with a titter. "So long as he gets his game, he will play that game, no matter the rules, no matter the risks, just for the sake of playing the game. Granted, I'm surprised he managed to make the rock beast actually laugh, but that is no matter. Slowly but surely, he will become of greater, and greater use to us. There is no risk for me or for the Rose in this endeavor."

The Grand General let out a snort and nodded his head. "Fine. Just be wary."

"But of course, dear."

"The rest of your report."

LeBlanc swiveled her staff and brought it in front of her as she detailed to the Grand General the rest of her report.

"My agents have also spotted the moonlight crusader, Diana, along the roads all over Valoran. She's been weeding out banditry and knavishness all about with no discrimination. She has also been able to recruit some of our own people under her religion. Cassiopeia, unfortunately, had another fit today, so any and all information I should have gained from her has been delayed, and as for the Fallen One, that is the jester's next task: To find the chink in her armor. I'm still looking over Sivir's assets and seeing what offer Emilio can make, and he will be visiting the Hasturs soon. Vladimir has been unreachable for any comment, I will continue to monitor him, and last but not least, Singed is still in the throes of thought about your proposal, and wishes to be undisturbed for another month to allow him to finish his workload. That, is the end of my report."

"You spoke of the Heretic. Why."

The Deceiver straightened her posture, her smile still on her face. "I believe that with a little coaxing and a little convincing, Diana will be an easy addition to our forces. I believe it would help serve our best interests, even if it is for a short term. Point her at our enemy, give her the resources, and watch the little toy go."

"Good."

Swain stared at LeBlanc with an unnerving glare. Beatrice mimicked her master, her six red, beady eyes staring at the woman.

"...Jericho, dear, are you fatigued?" LeBlanc asked in a curious tone. She tilted her head, a flirtatious glint in her eyes. "I believe you did not sleep when I asked you to do so."

"Sleep is relatively redundant these days for me," he replied in a gruff tone.

"Now now, Jericho, don't get snippy with me. You know sleep helps solidify thoughts and ideas, and helps reinvigorate the body and mind." LeBlanc's lips parted to reveal a toothy grin, a glint in her eyes spoke of her intentions. "If you are not tired as of yet, I suppose we could consider some..._heavy,_ recreation?"

The room went silent as Swain continued to stare at her. He rose a hand up, waved her off and said, "It is a good suggestion. Go. Get some rest."

LeBlanc blinked. Her eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed and for a brief moment, she looked peeved at the fact she was just snubbed. Her implacable, porcelain mask quickly reformed itself. The Deceiver curtsied towards Swain and took a step backwards. Violet magic started to swirl her while she spoke. "As you w-"

The Deceiver's lithe, sensuous body was slammed against the wall, she only had the time to take a breath when a monstrous hand reached up and cupped her jaw gently.

"_**What's wrong, Evaine? Bird got your tongue?**_"

The black wings of Swain's raven form quickly started to wrap around them as he pulled her towards him into an embrace. Her face actually showed shock at what had just happened. "Jericho...Did...did you just...?"

Swain's six eyes started to hum with a sickly green magic, changing his eyes from their crimson color into a brilliant emerald.

LeBlanc burst out laughing. Her hand quickly snaked itself around to the back of the Grand General, then she tightened the embrace between them. Her bust was pressed against his chest, she could feel the taut muscles underneath the loose nightshirt he wore. "My my, Jericho, so you _did_ catch on. Here I was, thinking that it had been so long you forgot how t-"

"_**My dove...**_" Swain reached up with his free hand, his fingers having been twisted into talons, and started to softly stroke her hair. "_**I meant every word I said today. It has been a while since I have made time for recreation.**_"

A coy giggle escaped her lips. Her staff disappeared in a puff of ethereal, purple butterflies. She tilted her head, looking him in all six of his eyes as she asked, "Well then, _Grand General_, I suppose I should let you take the lead, yes? Apres vous, mon beau corbeau."

* * *

Even in the dead of night, when no sensible being would be awake, something scurried in the sewers and tunnels of Noxus. It looked like a rat, but was far too large to be considered a normal rodent. Especially with the way it had weaved and maneuvered itself around the sleeping bums of the Noxian slums before slipping down a sewer grate, then ran past the still awake tramps and derelicts that used these sewers themselves for their own means. The undead sentinels that stood at every junction continued to stare out beyond them with hollowed eyes.

The rat was looking for something, and though the castaway people did not notice him, the undead soldiers most certainly did. Instead of reacting violently to him, they simply watched as he scurried by them, then quietly went back to looking over their designated posts. They were the guards against would be intruders and acting as a grim reminder that their lord, and protector, was watching over all of them.


	5. Chapter 2 Author's Notes

**Author's Notes**

Before I go into my spiel, a big shout out to KuzAnn for being my dedicated editor even after all of this time, as well as for people from the forums, both the official forums and Maelstrom forums, that I've interacted and their respective roleplayers that have helped improve my writing and characterization.

A quick note: I am using Mordekaiser's old lore because I love it way too much, and I have a lot planned for the master of metal by having his setting in Noxus. He is still a Shadow Isles champion, there is no fear to be had on me removing that aspect of him.

Now, I suppose you all deserve to know why it has taken me so long to post this chapter. I've rewritten this chapter, since February, more than 10 times. Just the chapter alone, in my notes, in my structure, in my everything. I've redone the plot line, the order of events, what I want done, what I need done and the entire format several more times. This really is going to be my biggest story, since I'm going to be dealing with all of the Demacians, all of the Noxians, the majority of the Zaunites, the Ionians, many "mercenary" individuals such as Jax, many "neutrals" such as Annie, the angel sisters, and have it all tie up.

This story will continue updating, but my updates may not be as often as I want them to be, because of the planning and when I get into the actual writing, and I also am working on my own personal projects as well as several other writing projects for fanfiction.

I also have to edit the chapter before this to fix up Riven's speech, try and shorten it and reformat it, edit some parts where I have nonsensical word choice, and fix up some of Swain's dialogue, to make him more imposing, more authoritative, a military leader.

Thank you all for staying by me after all this time, and I'm sorry it has taken so long for me to update this story and I hope you enjoy reading it. Thank you.


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